“Here, let me drive,” Griffin says, offering a hand. I give him my keys and stumble to the passenger side door. He starts the car but makes no move to leave the parking lot.
“I didn’t send you any note, so who did?”
“I…don’t know.” I’m at a loss for words, and honestly, I might actually be sick. There’s a roiling in my gut and heaviness in my lungs.
Without another word, I open the envelope and hand the note to him, fingers shaking.
Griffin scans the image, reading the article. Without looking up, he whispers, “Holy shit.”
I nod, a sob working its way into my throat.
“This is what happened to your parents?”
I nod again, still too afraid to speak. He stays silent and pulls the car out of the parking lot. When he turns onto the main road, I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. This has to be some kind of cruel joke. But why? Who would want to do this to me? Bring up terrible memories of the past.
I was fourteen, and Mom and Dad had gone out for a Friday night date. A movie and something else. They said they’d be back late, and I’d taken that opportunity to sneak out to a party. They trusted me enough to let me stay home alone, and it’s not like I was doing anything that terrible. Just a house party. I wouldn’t be driving drunk or anything, seeing how I couldn’t drive. I figured if they were out having fun, why shouldn’t I take advantage of it?
So when I crept back inside, I prayed they were asleep and not awake, waiting for me. The house was dark, so I thanked my lucky stars, tiptoed to my bedroom, and went to sleep blissfully. Thankful that I’d gotten away with it.
But when I awoke in the morning, they weren’t sitting in the kitchen like they normally were. Odd. It was eleven, so I knew they had to be up. I went out into the garage, discovering their car was not there. Even more weird.
I called Mom first. Then Dad. Neither of them answered.
It was only an hour later that the officers showed up at my house and I learned the truth about what happened to them. A car wreck. They’d both been found dead on the scene. Head-on collision. I fell into a bout of tears that seemed to never end. Eventually, Grandma Ruth came over and pulled me off the floor. She hugged me, rubbing my back, telling me everything would be okay. But she was crying, too. So I knew it wasn’t going to be okay. It never would be. My parents were dead.
But I hadn’t let them die.
He pulls the car into a parking spot in our complex and, laying his hand against mine, he says, “Do you want to come over for a little bit? We can talk. Or just relax in silence. Whatever you need.”
I stay silent, pushing the door open. He follows suit, and though I head for the path that leads to my door, he catches up to me, grabbing onto my hand. I spin, not wanting to talk about this. Not wanting him to see my face. At least I’m not crying.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling me closer to him, despite my obvious resistance.
I shake my head. “No. Should I be after that? After everything. Why would someone send me something so…cruel?”
He sighs heavily, sadness filling his eyes. I look around at the darkness surrounding the apartment complex, and the small lights do little to light the area. Then he pulls me against him, and I’m too shocked and upset to tell him no. He hugs me tight, and after a heavy breath of my own, I lean my head on his chest and hug him back.
The thought of pushing away a love that had felt so real, if only for a few seconds inside a vision, rips my heart to shreds. I’ve never experienced true, heart-wrenching, love before. It’s the kind of feeling I never want to disappear. Even though that vision promises it won’t end well.
But I need some distance and time to think through all the madness. I have to keep Griffin far enough away from me as he can get, at least romantically. It’s clear I can’t ghost him and cut him out of my life. I haven’t figured out how to juggle finding the truth, identifying my stalker, and trying to ignore my growing feelings for Griffin.
“No,” I finally say, releasing his grip. “I can’t come over tonight. I’m tired.” Mentally exhausted, full of uncertainty and anxiety. “I just need some time to relax. To breathe. To think.”
He doesn’t object. Simply nods and lets me go before turning toward his apartment.
As I walk to my own apartment, I know I need to accept letting him go. For good. It’s the last thing I want, and my heart cracks just thinking of it, but if it’s the only way to alter the future, I have to do it.
Chapter Seventeen
In the days that follow, I spend my time making excuses not to see Griffin. I tell him I’m working on photography, which isn’t exactly a lie. He found a job, doing something mechanical that I don’t exactly understand, and that takes up some of his free time.
Since the portfolio submission is soon, I decide to go out to look for last-minute photography opportunities. The scholarship needs to be high priority, even if saving someone’s life earned the spot at number one…
Olivia is stuck babysitting her younger sister, so when I ask her to join me on my photo escapade, she declines. Normally, I would venture out alone. But now with a stalker following me? Alone in public sounds like the worst place to be. I almost call Griffin, but immediately change my mind. I’m supposed to be putting distance between us—even if it is slowly breaking my heart.
Crap. I spin my desk chair around a few times until I consider my last option. Texting Jack. I spend only a moment considering if my request for company will be weird or out of line.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and besides, he did offer to help.
“You need an escort?” Jack says after I call, a twinge of humor in his voice.
“That’s not exactly how I’d phrase it, but yes. I know this is inconvenient for—”
“Don’t be silly. I’m happy to help. Any friend of Olivia’s is a friend of mine.”
We meet downtown about twenty minutes later, and we start walking the streets in the Oregon District. Like always, it’s empty and quiet in the daylight. I stop and appraise a white-brick building. It’s not particularly special. Just an old brick building. But I lift my camera and snap a few pictures of the entrance. Kneeling on the ground, I take more shots.
“I didn’t consider this might not be fun for you,” I say as we round a corner.
He laughs. “Nah. I don’t mind it. Happy to help.”
After walking around half the building and snapping a dozen photos, I inspect them in my camera’s viewfinder. Warmth fills my insides as I scan them. Some of them are actually good. Maybe not good enough for my portfolio, but they’re special in a way that has nothing to do with the building. All the lines and angles the architecture creates. The light reflecting off different surfaces. Artistically blurred backgrounds. I could totally get an A+ image, if I just keep looking.
“So where did you grow up?” he asks while we wait at a crosswalk, a light breeze flowing my hair back.
“I’ve always lived in Dayton. My parents changed houses when I was four, but I barely remember. Then I grew up in the same house until I was fourteen.”
“What happened when you were fourteen?”
“My parents… They were in a car wreck. So I—I had to move in with my grandma.” Images of the creeptastic note flash in my head, increasing my ever-present anxiety by another notch.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I think Olivia did mention that. How insensitive of me.”
I wave the comment off, trying to do the same with the mental images as we cross the street. “It was a long time ago.”
We pass a few more buildings before he asks, “Were you close with your parents?”
“Sure.” I adjust my camera settings as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds.
“Were they good parents? I mean, was your childhood happy?”
I’m thrown off by his questions.
He sounds genuinely curious, though they aren’t the kinds of questions you ask just anyone. It’s almost like he’s gathering information to write my biography. Or maybe he’ll use it when he’s doing research later. I did tell him he could dig into my life, so I don’t think he means any harm.
“Yeah, my parents were great,” I finally say.
“You got lucky. I personally got tossed into foster care. Parents who didn’t give a shit—who were in it only for the extra checks. The dirty houses. The shitty schools where everyone liked to pick on you because you’re the only white kid around. I never got adopted.”
“I’m…wow. I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. It’s all in the past. Just funny how lives can turn out so differently based on the choices your parents make, huh?”
I’m not entirely sure I understand, but I nod.
“You don’t have a brother or sister?”
“Nope.”
“So you don’t have much family left?”
“Ah.” I slow my pace. “It’s just me and my grandma.”
“Not even a pet cat?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Ever wish you had siblings?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what it would be like. But I liked being an only child.” Until the only family I had left was Grandma Ruth.
“I always wished I did.” There’s a sad lilt to his voice. “Wish I had more than other foster kids to grow up with. You know, someone who’s gonna stick around.”
“I know what you mean.” Growing up without a home must’ve been a lot different. I feel for Jack. “Let’s take a right on Third Street,” I say, picking my pace back up.
We wander around downtown for about an hour. Even though the restaurants and bars are old—and if you walk a few blocks away, you might get robbed—there’s character here. And I do find things to photograph. Some of these buildings are so odd and unique, and when I play with my camera settings, I get some awesome images. As Jack and I walk, he carries on about the music selection my best friend likes, and we agree that half of it is too painful for our ears. We chat about other things, mostly relating to Olivia. He’s not as boisterous as Olivia, but he’s chatty enough to keep light conversation going, and thankfully, the super specific and personal questions about me have stopped.
“I like the way those trees bend into a shape over there,” Jack offers, pointing.
I look where he’s facing, but don’t see it. “Where?”
“Right…” He grabs my outstretched hand and moves it a little to the right. “There.”
His hand is cold compared to my own warm skin. I gasp from his touch. Not only because it’s cold, but because I had no vision. Our touch should’ve sparked something. Especially with him being so intertwined with Olivia. It doesn’t make sense…
I look up at Jack. “Are you sure we’ve never met? Not even in a coffee shop or a gas station?” Could we have touched before without it leaving a memorable impact?
Jack puts his hands in his pockets and gives me a puzzled look. “I would remember if we’d met before.”
I’m not in a position to argue, so I shrug and continue walking.
Skimming my teeth with my tongue, I look around at the multitude of buildings. “Well, I might’ve exhausted my photos of downtown. There’s only so many ways you can make buildings look unique.”
“Hey, you know, I might have the perfect photo opportunity for you,” he says.
I’m unsure about anything being perfect. “Oh yeah? Let’s hear it.”
“There’s a place nearby that has a statue that looks like an angel—but you have to catch it when the sun is setting. It’s pretty amazing.”
I start to say no but hesitate. I’m basically out of inspiration and feeling desperate, so I might as well give Jack’s idea a chance. If I get an amazing photograph, it’s a win. If not, at least I can say I tried.
“Come on,” he says before I can say anything, turning toward the crosswalk.
He’s a couple steps into the street before I look left and see the blinking red hand on the other side of the street—the do not cross symbol. “Wait!” A blaring horn pierces the air, loud enough to drown out my voice. The tires screech loudly, but the car doesn’t break in time.
It doesn’t happen in slow motion, like it did when Griffin’s brakes were cut. One moment he’s beside me, and the next, he’s walking into the street. I see the blaring symbol and hear the screaming horn all in the same moment I see Jack’s body tumble over the oncoming car.
Chapter Eighteen
“Jack!” Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.
The horn stops as the car comes to a halt halfway through the intersection. My heart hammers against my rib cage as I look left, then right. When I’m sure I won’t get hit, too, I dart into the street.
His body is curled into an unnatural position as I frantically kneel beside him. “Jack. Are you okay—holy shit—please be okay. Please—” He can’t be dead. I would have seen it when we touched. Wouldn’t I?
I should have seen something… Why didn’t I?
He groans, and I’m so overwhelmed with relief that I feel dizzy and lightheaded. He’s hurt, not dead. For now, anyway.
“Don’t move.” I lay a hand on his arm and wrestle my phone out of my back pocket. “I’m going to call for help.” As the phone rings, I see the driver of the car is long gone, now that I look for the gray four-door. The asshole hit Jack and fled the scene.
Jack tries to roll onto his side, lifting his head of dark brown hair. “I—”
“You’re going to be fine.” The words fall out quickly, before I have the chance to think anything else. “Just don’t move. Don’t.” I want to say Why did you start crossing the street or maybe Didn’t anyone teach you to look both ways first, but the 911 operator answers.
Jack rests his head back against the pavement, shutting his eyes. I stare at his chest to ensure he’s still breathing, still holding onto him like my touch will keep him breathing.
“My friend was hit by a car,” I utter into the phone. “On the corner of Fifth and Main. No. He’s not unconscious.” I don’t think. “Hurry.” I let my cell clatter against the ground, never removing my gaze.
It’s only a matter of minutes before I hear ambulance sirens in the distance. I finally look up to see clusters of people around us. More than the one car has stopped. I see a couple people holding their phones to their ears. Someone shouts something indiscernible.
“I’m okay,” Jack mutters with his eyes still closed.
“You got hit by a car; you are not okay.”
I don’t catch what he says next, not with the sirens accumulating and growing closer, not with the noise of too many people talking at once. I take a rattling breath, shutting my eyes to shove back the sudden urge to cry. When I open them again, an ambulance is parked, and a man and a woman are jogging over to us.
I scoot back when they get close. It takes me too long to get my legs to work. When I finally stand up, there are a handful of medics surrounding Jack. I’m lightheaded again, trying to see what they’re doing, trying to see if he’s still breathing.
Was this really an accident, or was it another cryptic prank gone too far? Maybe the driver thought Jack was Griffin—or maybe the driver had been aiming for me.
“Are you riding with him?” one of the EMTs asks me.
“Uh—yeah. Yes.” I nod, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. I press my hands against my temples, hoping to ground myself.
I get into the back of the ambulance after they wheel Jack in on a gurney. I’ve never been inside one of these things, and if I ever see one again, it’ll be too soon. After a few minutes into the ride to the hospital, I hear one of the EMTs say stable and normal. Then when he blinks over at me, he gives half a smile, and relief washes over me.
I pull out my phone to text Olivia
. My fingers hover over the screen as I decide on the best way to tell her about the accident. I should probably call her instead, but it’s so loud inside the ambulance. As I’m considering my options, I get a text from Griffin.
Griffin: Are you still coming over? I thought you said 8?
Shit. I completely forgot about the plans I’d agreed to yesterday. A movie and some popcorn. It was hard enough to go days without seeing him, so I was secretly looking forward to our informal date even though I need to keep my feelings in check. The more time went by without Griffin, the guiltier and lonelier I felt. He believes I’ve just been busy, which is mostly a lie.
Me: I’m so sorry. I’m with Jack. He got into an accident. Can we raincheck for tomorrow?
My phone is silent for minutes longer than I’d like. I open the messages to Griffin and type slowly.
Me: I miss you.
I quickly delete the message before hitting send. I can’t say that.
Anxiety over Jack has morphed into more guilt, which honestly only doubles my anxiety. Pushing Griffin away has been intentional, but I didn’t expect to feel so destroyed by his silence and anger.
Finally, my phone buzzes.
Griffin: I’ll check my schedule and let you know.
It isn’t a no, but it doesn’t loosen the tight muscles in my chest, and it doesn’t relieve the swirling emotions in my gut.
I do miss Griffin. More than I realized until now.
…
An hour later, I’m comforting Olivia in the waiting room. Jack hadn’t sustained many injuries, considering what actually happened. His body rolled over the top of the car then landed on hard pavement, and he’d gotten only a concussion, a few bruises, and a fractured elbow. The doctor said he couldn’t have been any luckier.
To Whatever End Page 14